Classic
by undrappreciatedsib
Summary: They were classic. It didn't matter how you looked at them. Someone remembers the Comedian, Nite Owl I, and Rorschach with the bottle.
1. Entrance Cue the Cymbal

Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen. Alan Moore does.

Classic: Toasting These Comedians

It had taken a day and a half to find them. They used to be everywhere on billboards and advertisements but progress must be made and so they tinkled into the past. But for every force there is an opposing force. Physics, huh?

The walk to the cemetery was kind of long but I didn't really mind. It was a nice day. I had declined a bag because I didn't want to deal with the plastic all crinkly and obtrusive into what I considered a special day. The receipt rustled in my coat pocket in rebellion. You can't win 'em all. You can't get them all.

I stopped at the entrance to the grounds and surveyed the beds of resting corpses. They were six feet underneath the surface of the earth. There was something profoundly sad in that especially because of who I had come to see. They were dead and would never see the sun or feel the warmth on their face like I did now.

I came across the first man and held the bottle in my hand.

I twisted it this way and that watching the light shine through the sloshing liquid frothing about. It was turbulent. It was fitting.

I popped the cap off and looked down at the grave sitting staunchly at my feet. I took a sip only to have it foam up and spill down the bottle. I laughed. There wasn't anything else to do. I watched it drip down my fingers to the ground. The ground seeped it up until there was only a few drops left on the grass, a mockery of the dew drops tht had touched upon the grass blades this morning. I licked the stickiness off and sipped the drink, savoring the old taste.

Edward Morgan Blake.

I had read Under the Hood but I still felt a need to show a little respect to a man who'd worked for a nation. The Comedian.

I wonder at what point he stopped laughing or if he's still guffawing down in his grave. I leave the bottle leaning against his grave. It rolls a little cheekily and the sunlight glints off it like a wink.


	2. A Smile and a Story

Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen.

***

The other was newer but not by much. A stone angel watched over the site as an everlasting guardian. It was there. It would always be there unless the carving met an end similar to the man. Dashed to pieces by good-for-nothings looking for entertainment; Hollis Mason did not deserve such an end.

Under the Hood rested on my bookshelf well-read but carefully taken care of. It had been kept in a paper bag. I finished a chapter a night.

It had left me feeling warm and a little sad. I thought of the ad for Nostalgia. I'd smelled it once and bought a small bottle. It was all I needed. I was wearing it now visiting the graves.

Nite Owl had been a man. One we needed dearly. He was honest and showed the simple truth. He fought for something he believed in and people saw all he did. There wasn't anything deceptive but the mask.

It was almost a year since the alien dropped into New York City. I had been upstate visiting a friend when it'd happened.

When the news came over the radio we got into a car and drove over. Her boyfriend had been yelling at her to not do it. Driving down the freeway with the wind teasing our hair through the open windows had been one of the best feelings we could've ever had. It had been so right. It had been what we'd needed to do.

It had killed us.

Something in us died that day in that city and we buried it with every piece of alien flesh and human corpse we threw dirt over.

I took another swig and held the bottle to my forehead. Geez. I was losing it. I used my wrist to wipe away the tears forming. There was still some coolness left in the bottle despite the heat from the sun and inside my own body radiating outward. I fled to its refuge.

Even as it was dying away.

I placed the bottle with a sound 'clink' against the headstone. It stood there beneath the angel. It would stand there for that is what I needed it to do.

Goodbye, Hollis Mason.

***

There will be one more chapter. There is one bottle left.


	3. A Hat Without a Feather

This is the last chapter. I do not own Watchmen. I own the narrator.

***

I didn't have a grave for my last bottle.

After the prison breakout no one heard from him. I wondered if he'd had a home with a family to go back to or if he was alone.

I twisted the cap off to get what I wanted. There was something satisfying in hearing metal scrape against glass. It broke off iving me the sweet aroma of what I crawled after like an addict strung out in an alley. I chugged the first few gulps and tripped over my feet. I must've looked like a drunk.

The drink burned down my throat and fingers scrunched together as I fought down the feeling of a nosebleed.

Rorschach.

A different burn sunk into my chest. It didn't have anything to do with the drink. It didn't have anything to do with the graves. It was a heavy stone I carried with the knowledge that Rorschach was gone. I tried to down it. I sucked down half the bottle before it all came back up.

I made it to the trashcan in time. I'd been heading for the gate anyway. I purged all I could onto the bottom of that trashcan. Pink and yellow sick swirled at the bottom playing into one another. It all came out. The sickness that had been churning in my stomach for almost a year finally found a way out.

I choked and heaved over the trash can trying to get some air. Fresh, pure air and not this pollution the city was breathing in like it was the same thing. How could they stand it? How could they just go about their lives with the stench of a decaying society all around them? Like it doesn't affect them…

I took another drink and calmed down. There wasn't anything I could change. All I could do was pay a tribute to the three men with bottles.

I kept the last one. Coca-Cola in green glass is a special find. They're classic. You don't find them a lot these days.

***

Ever since Rorschach made the reference in Watchmen I've wanted to do a fic like this.


End file.
